


drawn to the blood

by aubades



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Idk what to tag this as, M/M, and some blood, there's a divine blowjob i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 00:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12243174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubades/pseuds/aubades
Summary: In the painting, the halo around Samothes’ head is large and bright, illuminated with real gold. His arms are outstretched, and when Hadrian realizes they give the impression of a welcoming, open embrace, he drops to his knees with a solid thud.He can still taste the dried blood on his split lips as he begins to murmur a prayer.(Hadrian prays and this time, Samothes listens.)





	drawn to the blood

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Fucktober 1st y'all!! Taking some liberties with the Church of Samothes and kind of the Hieron timeline in general but you know... [Griffin voice] play with meee...

_You gave your body to the lonely_  
_They took your clothes_  
_You gave up a wife and a family_  
_You gave your ghost_  
  
_To be alone with me_

\- Sufjan Stevens, To Be Alone with You

The church is empty, much to Hadrian's relief. As he walks down the rows of pews toward the altar, the only sounds are the chirping of birds in the distance and the click of his boots against the stone floor. The sunset filters in through the stained glass windows as shards and fractals of light, casting a hazy red glow throughout the large room. Yet, where Hadrian might normally find comfort in the familiar warmth of a holy place in the evening, he only finds that the color splashed across the walls reminds him of the blood stains on his enemies’ cheeks, of the deep wounds he can currently feel on his arms and chest.

When he reaches the altar stage, Hadrian hesitates. He hadn’t seen anyone else as he walked through the garden, nor through the halls, but there’s something weighing on his mind that leaves him wondering if he instead should seek actual counsel. But, the silence had lulled him away to the center of the church with the promise of just a short moment to himself to pray alone.

Hadrian takes a deep breath and slowly removes his armor, setting it neatly next to a pew, worried about scratching the floor when he kneels. As always, there’s the slight panic that twists in his gut at the feeling of exposure, of vulnerability, but this time he also feels relief at shedding the most visible aspect of a paladin.

When the armor is gone, Hadrian lays his palm flat against the ring that hangs from his neck, holding it against his chest and closes his eyes. He can feel himself sway a little in place, fatigue beginning to catch up with him, but he’s still drawn toward the altar, unable to resist that familiar pull.

Hadrian’s underclothes are torn, splotches of red scattered across his chest, and he hisses as some of the more open wounds come into contact with the cool air that rushes underneath his shirt as he moves. He takes a moment to make sure he’s not in danger of dripping blood onto the dark wooden stage, tearing off what remains of the hem of his shirt to bind it against the large cut on his arm, pulling the cloth tight with his teeth.

He can feel the dried tears on his face as he walks up onto the stage, but Hadrian doesn’t rub them away.

The altar is smaller than the one in Velas, but still attended to with obvious care. The candlesticks shine proudly in the sunlight, laid out neatly across the table on top of a long golden cloth. There is a painting of Samothes hanging above the table, the centerpiece of the altar. Hadrian stares at it for a few moments, his hands fiddling with the tattered sleeves of his shirt.

In the painting, the halo around Samothes’ head is large and bright, illuminated with real gold. His arms are outstretched, and when Hadrian realizes they give the impression of a welcoming, open embrace, he drops to his knees with a solid thud.

He can still taste the dried blood on his split lips as he begins to murmur a prayer.

Hadrian loses track of time, his words, even himself as he finally gives into the flood of emotion he usually keeps bottled up in his chest. He prays until his throat feels tight and hoarse, even though his whispers are quiet, and his hands won’t seem to stop shaking.

The battle replays over and over in Hadrian’s mind, the heavy memories of each swing and stab threatening to push him farther to the floor. The clanging of metal echoes loud in his ears, almost enough to smother the prayer he desperately clings to. He’s trained to ignore the pain in his knees as he prays, but his new wounds ache horribly, as do the old, forgotten scars that sprawl across his body like a map of stars.

Eventually, there floor creaks loudly behind him, breaking through Hadrian’s thoughts like the crack of a whip. He startles, feeling someone standing behind him, but before he can turn around, sturdy hands come to rest on his shoulders, keeping him still.

Hadrian feels rooted in place, almost like he isn’t in control of his body, but instead of alarm, he feels an intense desire to lean back into the touch, into the hands now coming to settle around his neck, the fingers slipping underneath the chain of his ring to caress his skin.

He looks up at the portrait of his god above the altar and suddenly understands why he feels stabilized, why there is a growing heat inside of his chest.

Hadrian manages to turn around sluggishly, still kneeling, blinking away the tears he wasn’t aware were in his eyes. As he stares up at the real Samothes before him, the god’s eyes are dark but warm, and there is a kind of light emanating from his skin. It’s almost blinding, almost like staring into the sun, but Hadrian is unable to tear his gaze away. Samothes wears simple clothes, the clothes of a blacksmith, but Hadrian is positive he’s never seen anything as glorious as this.

Samothes keeps his hands on Hadrian’s shoulders, calloused thumbs pressed softly against Hadrian’s neck. He has a kind smile on his face, which only brings more tears to Hadrian’s eyes.

“Hadrian,” says Samothes. His voice is quiet and laden with answers to the questions Hadrian has always held locked away in the back of his mind. Hadrian realizes that it’s also the voice he always hears in his dreams.

“My lord,” Hadrian replies, choking on his own voice as it shakes uncontrollably, as does his entire body. Without Samothes holding him in place, he feels as though he would surely topple over onto the floor.

“How can I help you, Hadrian?” Samothes asks. The question is unexpected, and Hadrian stops breathing.

After a long pause, he finally rasps out a questioning, “My lord?”

Samothes hums, still smiling, drawing Hadrian easily to his feet with his hands cupped around Hadrian's chin. Hadrian doesn’t know how this is possible, as he feels incredibly weak, but he still stands.

Samothes stares deep into his eyes. “I heard you, Hadrian,” the god whispers, and he drags Hadrian into a deep kiss.

Hadrian can't stop himself from crying as Samothes kisses him and hot tears roll down his cheeks. He is unsure of whether or not to kiss the man back, or where to put his hands. They hang loose at his sides, limp like how the rest of his body feels. Samothes kisses him slowly, tenderly, as if he is gently coaxing Hadrian into relaxation. Eventually, Hadrian is able to pull himself together enough to brace his hands against Samothes’ chest.

Hadrian can feel himself growing hard, but he's too overwhelmed figure out what to do about it. Then, Samothes bites the corner of Hadrian's mouth and the paladin gasps, allowing Samothes to lick his way into Hadrian's mouth. Hadrian clenches Samothes' shirt in his hands, balling the fabric into his fists.

Samothes’ mouth tastes of unknown things, of worlds and experiences Hadrian will never get to have himself. But, there is also something familiar in the heat of the god's mouth - like the warmth of the summer sun on the back of Hadrian's neck as he kneels in the church garden to pray.

There is a moment where Hadrian hesitates to kiss Samothes back, but as Samothes shifts Hadrian backward until he is practically sitting on top of the altar while also pulling Hadrian flush against his leg, Hadrian groans at the light pressure against his erection and instinctively surges forward into Samothes' kiss. 

He feels the god smile against his lips. Samothes leans over to press kisses along Hadrian's jaw, following the line down Hadrian's neck to his chest, still holding Hadrian tight against him. Hadrian can feel himself shaking, trying stop himself from rutting his hips against the god.

Samothes kisses each of the wounds down Hadrian's body, and Hadrian can feel the man's tongue even through the fabric. He gasps at each lick, until he bites down on his bottom lip to quiet himself. The skin breaks once again and he can taste blood in his mouth as Samothes slides his fingers underneath Hadrian's trousers, pulling them down far enough to expose Hadrian's cock.

The wooden altar creaks underneath Hadrian's weight as he leans back, knocking over a candlestick. It goes clattering to the floor, and while the candle is thankfully unlit, the guilt he feels for disturbing the altar is immediate, unconscious. But maybe Samothes won't take it as a sign of disrespect - after all, he now kneels before Hadrian as if in prayer, his breath tickling Hadrian's bare thighs.

Hadrian is afraid to reach out, afraid this is nothing more than a fever dream, but as Samothes runs his hands up Hadrian's legs, holding him against the altar, the contact is solid and real. Hadrian squeezes his eyes shut tight, heart pounding in his chest. He is so hard that he feels like he might shatter underneath any more of the god's touches.

Even though his eyes are closed, the imagine of Samothes kneeling before him, just as Hadrian has for the god numerous times before, is burned into his mind. He can't let himself imagine that there's compassion in the way the god caresses him, won't allow himself to look down into Samothes' eyes, to search for the things he's afraid to ask for. Yet, the warmth of divinity remains, blooming across Hadrian's chest.

When Samothes takes Hadrian's cock into his mouth, Hadrian can't stop himself from crying out sharply, his voice ringing out throughout the church. Samothes holds him steady, gripping Hadrian's thigh with one hand, the other at the base of Hadrian's dick. Hadrian's head falls back, and he looks up at the ceiling of the church, keening and grasping at the altar tablecloth as Samothes drags his tongue along his dick.

Samothes' mouth is now so hot that Hadrian feels like he's burning up, like he's in the center of the fire and forge. He squirms, entire body vibrating, but Samothes keeps him in place, stops him from coming too far undone. There are moans escaping from his mouth, coming from deep within his chest, sounds that he didn't realize he could make.

Samothes licks the head of Hadrian's cock, with just enough pressure to make Hadrian buck his hips. The table protests once again and Hadrian barely registers something else toppling over onto the floor. Sweat rolls down Hadrian's temples and he can feel the blood in his mouth trickling down his chin as he takes in shuddering gasps of air.

He's close, he can feel it. Hadrian tries to say something, but can't gather up enough breath to form the words as Samothes' tongue slides across his skin. His hips rock a little and he slightly into fucks the man's mouth, and he feels Samothes laugh around his cock, the vibration drawing out another loud groan from Hadrian. Soon, he comes with a whine on his lips and tears in his eyes.

Hadrian opens his eyes in time to see Samothes swallowing him down through his orgasm. Hadrian realizes his mouth has fallen open and he closes it with a snap, licking the blood off of his lips.

Hadrian is still shaking a bit as Samothes stands, but the god slowly pieces Hadrian back together with careful kisses and gentle hands, pulling Hadrian's trousers back up to his hips. He cups the back of Hadrian's and kisses him full on the mouth, tender. Hadrian can taste himself on Samothes' lips, can taste his own blood in his god's mouth. Samothes presses his hand against Hadrian's cheek before kissing his forehead, and Hadrian can feel himself crying once again.

The feeling of Samothes pressed against him disappears gradually, until Hadrian is once again standing in the church alone, cast in the glow of the last dying embers of the sunset, listening to the birds chirping from the trees in the church garden. Hadrian's chest still heaves, there is sweat sticking his hair to his face, and his ring is warm against his chest. But, as he slowly picks up the knocked over candlesticks, straightening up the altar, his realizes hands are no longer shaking.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece started out as "Hey, I should wreck Hadrian" and then I realized every Sufjan Stevens song basically about Hadrian being gay for god....and then I was the one who was wrecked...


End file.
